Outside my window flew field after field
of impossibly puffed clouds, so innocent
they took my breath away.
I could feel their tenderness
without touching them:
round white vaporous flowers
lining the highway of the sky.
When the plane landed, I walked off
feeling inordinately blessed and calm.
Carrying my little bag into the airport,
I moved with a light step
and considered listening to Bach
when I got back home.
My ears and nose were perfectly in place:
all was exceedingly well.
The next thing I knew,
I was in a hurricane of movement
-- voices, rushings, announcements,
frenzies of all descriptions.
My link with the sacred trembled and fell away.
I was back in this world.
There is no question that this world pulls
at us with hypnotic intensity; coaxes us into
its clamors with a thousand and one invitations.
And there is no question that we will surrender
here and there and then and now to its pull.
It happens a thousand times a day;
it will happen a thousand times tomorrow.
So how do we do it, those of us who are
committed to a deeper, more numinous calling;
who have responded to an inner invitation
to explore the sacred?
How do we travel in our mundane world,
given over to noise and excitement
and frenzy and happenstance --
and still witness the Divine?
Here's what I do.
I use prayer and prayer and prayer
to keep the door open.
Aside from that, we can do nothing.
What else is there to do?
I think the only reason
we ever See the Divine at all
is because the Divine chooses to let us see It.
Our part is to remember to honor the Silence
-- that opens the door.
Once we have thus expressed our will
to see the sacred, the sacred shows its Face.
Not when we say: show yourself!
but more often when we have stopped
saying anything, and simply handed ourselves
over for filling up.
Then is when we are ready.
And there it is:
a secret, sacred heaven,
hidden behind the broiling, roiling universe.
Never will we see It with human eyes;
all we can do is prepare the way with silence.
And catch our breath when It appears.